


no control

by curiousair



Series: needy [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bottom Richie Tozier, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Service Top Richie Tozier, Smut, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Verbal Humiliation, like a lot of masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiousair/pseuds/curiousair
Summary: Richie Tozier, attention whore extraordinaire, gets off on being ignored.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: needy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912102
Comments: 21
Kudos: 259





	no control

**Author's Note:**

> uh, hey. this is wild. title is from the one direction song, obviously.
> 
> (part of a series, but could be read as a standalone I suppose. though, it's a lot more fun if ya read the other one too.)
> 
> slight TW I guess because Eddie reads Fight Club in this lmao

It started as an accident, really. 

Richie can’t say he has the most normal sexual appetite or tastes, so he is extremely lucky that Eddie—the love of his life, his sweet baby angel, his very own meticulous, grumpy little wood elf— indulges him.

Sometimes though, he doesn’t.

So, here’s the scene: Sunday morning, hungover, rushing to shower because they were late for breakfast with Richie’s parents. Eddie was absolutely not willing to let Richie talk him into flaking on them to have sex all day. First, he begged, hoping it would get Eddie horny enough to give in. Then, he pouted and whined, desperately rubbing his dick against Eddie's ass. Eddie, the bastard, just carried on bathing, pretending not to notice how hard Richie was. Finally, after having  _ enough _ of the fucking torture, Richie leaned against the shower wall and, quite frantically, jerked himself off. But, something about Eddie’s indifference, his unwillingness to give Richie even a _ glance_, something about the shame of begging for attention, of wanting and  _ needing _ so much had arousal building in the pit of his stomach. He gave in to it, hot with embarrassment, and came so hard he literally blacked out and had to sit on the shower floor for a minute.

That’s what brings him here: Monday night, day two of their five day stay-cation before Richie goes back home. Eddie is cooking, mid-way through a rant about people who touch all the vegetables at the grocery store, and Richie is horny. Like, painfully so. It's a fucked up pavlovian reaction at this point, triggered by Eddie being focused on everything  _ but  _ Richie and his persistent hard-on. Eddie is unaware that every time he brushes Richie off, it only contributes to the boner. It’s the boner snowball effect, or something. Whatever, he’s horny.

“I know you wash them when you get home, but it’s the principle, you know? Do you really have to finger fuck every tomato to figure out which ones you want to buy?”

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie's waist and kisses the back of his neck. "You look so sexy when you’re ranting.”

"Alright, alright." Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s never been good at hiding his smile when Richie is ‘annoying’ him. "Hands off you goddamn horndog. Do you want me to burn our food?" 

Richie’s shyness about asking for what he wants dissipated months ago, the very moment Eddie made it known that he’s absolutely fine with Richie being a pervert. It’s a double edged sword though, because now he has no filter at all. He presses his dick at the small of Eddie’s back and mutters into his hair: “Promise to fuck me and I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Never,” Eddie sings, arching against Richie’s crotch. “Fuck yourself.”

When Richie attempts to fondle Eddie through his shorts, Eddie smacks his hand with the hot wooden spoon.

After dinner, Richie’s hard-on returns with a vengeance. He looks down at his lap, silently asking his inconveniently hard dick if it ever gets tired of begging for Eddie’s attention. It responds with a twitch, which Richie takes as a no.

Eddie is curled up on the couch, eating ice cream and watching Hell’s Kitchen with the intensity one would give a gripping HBO drama. Richie sprawls next to him, watching him instead of the TV. He's wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt, which objectively is nothing spectacular. But when you’re Richie Tozier and your boyfriend is Eddie Kaspbrak and your brain only has three settings—dipshit, horny, and horny cumslut—this outfit has the same effect as lingerie. The loose collar of the shirt hanging low on his chest, the threadbare shorts riding high on his thighs...to be quite fucking honest, Richie would happily waterboard himself with Eddie’s cum.

Richie palms himself through his pants, somewhat discreetly, brushing the soft fabric against his dick, allowing little whimpers to escape his tight lips. After a minute or two of rather unsatisfying pawing, Eddie catches on and without being asked, sits up and offers a hand. Literally. He starts untying the drawstring on Richie's pants, humming airly with a vaguely indifferent expression as if he's helping Richie tie his shoe or adjust his glasses.

"Don't-” Richie rushes out, knocking Eddie’s hand away, “just pretend I'm not here. Or maybe… you know I'm here but you just, like, don’t give a shit about me?" 

When Richie gets his hand down the front of his boxers, Eddie gives him a look, brows furrowed and head tilted which typically means ‘ _what in the fucking hell are you doing?_ ’ Richie waits for as long as he can, which turns out to be about sixty seconds before wrapping his hand around himself fully. Shame washes over him— _'You can’t even wait until you get to the bed, you pervert'_ , he thinks, except it's in Eddie's voice, a perfect balance of sultry and insulting, and that gets his head spinning. Eddie would take care of him, he  _ so _ would. But, Richie’s brain is set somewhere between horny and horny cumslut and he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t get a hand on himself right this second.

"Don't look at me,” Richie chokes out, gripping his leaking dick. He slides his fist down once, spreading pre-cum, and his voice cracks around a strangled moan. “Fuck, this is so embarrassing."

And Eddie, because he’s perfect and an actual genius, just gets it. He looks away, then casually turns the volume up on the TV, drowning out Richie’s humiliatingly loud breathing. Richie groans, “ _Oh, fuck_ ,” his dick throbbing in his hand, and Eddie continues on eating and watching TV as if Richie isn’t even in the room. Like he isn’t even in the apartment. Like he’s miles away and Eddie is bored, waiting for his call.

Richie watches him, how his eyes never leave the TV, how he relaxes into the couch like it’s a normal Monday night at home. He gets tingly with need, wants Eddie to pull him by the hair, force his jaw open, and fuck his mouth until his throat is raw. “Babe?” Richie asks, his voice strained, and thumbs at the head of his dick, the way Eddie would do if he was touching him. Eddie doesn’t answer, doesn’t even react other than blinking at the TV. Richie says it again, louder, a whine this time, and Eddie makes a disinterested noise and motions to the screen. Richie spreads his legs, making room to push his pants down on his hips and angle his dick away from his belly. He’s so fucking wet, he’s making a mess. Another wave of shame washes over him, which only makes him wetter, dripping down his shaft and sticking to his pubes.

Then, to make matters worse, Eddie nudges Richie’s thigh with his foot. He stretches out on the cushions so he’s lying on his side, forcing Richie to one end of the couch. “Make room,” he mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the TV. Richie nearly fucking falls apart right then, feeling Eddie’s feet against his thigh, pushing him aside like an afterthought. 

He gazes at Eddie’s beautiful, toned legs and thighs, the small curve of his ass in his shorts. He fucks himself into his hand, the way he would with Eddie behind him, white-knuckling his ass and spreading him open. Cursing, he tightens his grip and shuts his eyes, getting lost in the mental image of Eddie standing over him and the phantom feeling of Eddie’s rough thumb on his lip. Pre-cum leaks through his fingers as he works his fist and Eddie hums, turning up the TV volume more to cover up the wet noises and Richie’s desperate pleas. “Fuck, babe. Please...” Richie is panting, his mouth moving before he can stop it. “Please Eddie, fuck me. Let me suck you off, want to choke on your cock, give me anything, _please_ , _please_ -”

And Eddie, the little shit, says nothing.

Coming to the sound of Gordon Ramsey calling someone a fucking idiot would be funnier under normal circumstances, but Richie’s head is swimming, his skin on fire. The come down is just as good as the build up, he thinks. He’s shaky and dizzy, too warm and damp, feeling a little exposed. There’s jizz streaked up his t-shirt, dripping over his fingers and when he looks over, Eddie fucking  _ winks _ at him.

In the bedroom shortly after, Richie is under the duvet, surrounded by humid warmth and Eddie's scent, with his mouth stretched over Eddie’s dick, nose pressed firmly into his pubes. 

"We need to do that again. That was so hot-" Eddie moans and bucks into Richie’s mouth. "Why was that  _ so fucking hot_?" 

Richie pulls the covers off his head, letting his mouth go slack, peering up at him. 

Eddie nudges Richie's head back down. "Don't stop— let me talk shit for a minute." He holds Richie by the back of his neck with both hands, Richie looks up through his glasses, only seeing the column of Eddie’s neck, the hair on his belly. Not to be a depraved whore, but Richie would floss with this man’s body hair. Rambling on, oblivious to Richie's cumbrained thoughts, Eddie says, "I love how fucking red you get, embarrassed because you’re so hard, how fucking loud you are, desperate for my attention. You couldn’t even wait five seconds." 

‘ _Say fuck again_ ,’ Richie thinks, and chuckles to himself. Eddie tightens his hand on Richie’s neck and Richie retrains his focus. He gives his whole heart, showing his love and dedication by hollowing his cheeks and sucking and slurping, partially because he's disgusting and partially because he loves how Eddie tries and fails to maintain his polite and composed disposition. He never has to, and he knows that, but he likes to ask first, as if Richie would ever say no to the question  _ 'hey, babe can I fuck your mouth until you're gagging?' _ He's never said no before, and because of this his taste buds have become attuned to the difference between Eddie's pre-cum and cum, his tongue knows every telltale twitch of his balls, every stiffening and pulsing of his dick right before he comes down Richie’s throat.

Immediately after Eddie finishes praising Richie for how amazing he is at giving head, Richie says, “We need a safe word.”

Eddie pets Richie’s head like a puppy, or a smaller, more fragile animal. A gerbil, possibly. “Aww, Richie. My perfect, safe baby-” Eddie hates to admit it, but man, does he turn into a fucking simp after he comes. And that’s saying a lot coming from a guy who regularly cries during sex.

Richie smacks his lips, thinking he should definitely brush his teeth because there’s nothing worse than morning breath with a hint of jizz breath, and adds, "A safe word for you."

“For me?” Eddie repeats, like Richie is speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“If you want to stop playing," Richie says, laying his head on Eddie's thigh next to his soft dick. If they weren't as tired, Richie would still be touching him, pushing past the oversensitivity to get him hard again. "Like, if things get too dubious and you actually mean no. I gotta know that you’re not just saying no or ignoring me to get my rocks off.” 

"Richie," Eddie says, looking so proud he actually might cry. “Did you read about this?”

Yes, Richie absolutely did sit on the toilet and do five minutes of research for this. “Took a page out of your book, babe.” 

“What about you?” Eddie asks, stroking a hand through Richie's hair.

“What about me?” Richie questions, breathing in Eddie’ heady scent. “You know I’m always good to go.”

“How mean can I get? Like, what’s the line?”

“Uh, don’t call me stupid. I mean, I know I am but it’s kind of a mood killer to let me know while I'm hard, you know?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, you’re not stupid. You’re an idiot, but you’re not stupid.”

“I love you,” Richie says, and kisses the sweaty crease of his groin.

“I love you too,” Eddie yawns. "Now get off of me." 

Richie responds by taking one of Eddie's balls into his mouth.

“Pervert," Eddie says, but definitely opens his legs to give Richie better access.

With his mouth full of Eddie's nutsack, Richie manages to say: “I know you are, but what am I?”

"Alright," Eddie chuckles and gives Richie a light shove. “Go brush your teeth.”

* * *

Eddie is reading Fight Club out loud. And, like, Fight Club isn’t sexy unless you count all the homoerotic subtext that Richie didn’t have to squint as much as everyone else to see when he was in college. 

But the thing is, Richie was already hard and Eddie  _ is _ straddling his upper thighs, not quite high up enough to give Richie the friction he needs. Eddie has kept his eyes on the worn pages the entire time, not sparing a single glance to Richie lying on the bed beneath him. 

So, yeah, that’s why he’s hard. It has nothing to do with violent prose or bloody imagery. He isn’t  _ that _ much of a freak. At least, he doesn’t think so. Still, he makes a mental note to explore that thought later, when Eddie isn’t blatantly and disrespectfully ignoring his dick.

Eddie reads, using both hands to cradle the book, “ _This isn’t such a hard punch. I punch myself, again. It just looks good, all the blood, but I throw myself back against the wall to make a terrible noise and break the painting that hangs there._ ” He clears his throat and lowers the book, leaning over to pick up his mug of tea. The muscles of his ass shift against Richie’s pudgy thighs and Richie wants to choke his dick until it’s purple and crying. Instead, he waits, pretending he’s not allowed to touch. Eddie never said he couldn’t, but… denying himself the pleasure of getting his fat, grubby fingers in all of Eddie’s nooks and crannies is part of the game, Richie decides.

“. _..I’m being such a doofus. Blood gets on the carpet and I reach up and grip monster handprints of blood on the edge of the hotel manager’s desk and say, please, help me, but I start to giggle..._ ” Eddie’s hair hangs softly on his forehead, fluffy and beautiful like how he looks after a post-sex shower. He’s showing off his arms tonight, wearing a sleeveless shirt, which he never fucking does. It’s a ploy to destroy Richie and break his brain, to get him hyper focused on such an innocent body part that he'll nut every time Eddie opens a jar of olives. He’ll be stuck on the horny cumslut setting for the rest of his life. He won’t be able to keep a job. He’ll never be able to see his parents again. 

“Fuck,” Richie says, and bites down on his lip. Trailing his gaze down to Eddie’s legs is a mistake. His thick, hairy thighs stretch the hem of his boxers, and his dick is at least half hard between them, stealing the last bits of what little self control Richie has left.

Richie makes two loose fists, dragging his fingertips over his dry palms for a moment before giving up completely and dragging his hands up Eddie's thighs, pressing his thumbs gently at the line of muscle leading up to his groin. Eddie quietly removes Richie’s hands and keeps reading aloud, regarding Richie the way he would a minor annoyance. Richie groans and touches himself instead, through his boxers, palm flat against his length, barely moving. 

“ _...The blood falls out of my nose and slides down the back of my throat and into my mouth, hot. The monster crawls across the carpet, hot and picking up the lint and dust sticking to the blood on its claws._ ” Eddie’s mouth wraps around the words carefully, distinctly, and it’s fucked up how that alone makes Richie rock hard. “ _And it crawls close enough to grab the manager of the Pressman Hotel around his pinstriped ankle and say it. Please._ ” 

Eddie stops to adjust his position, just a small shift of his ass and nothing more. Still, it's enough to excite Richie— he can see the outline of Eddie’s dick, fully hard now, a little wet spot right where the head tents his boxers. He likes this just as much, riling Richie up, knowing that Richie is watching him like a fucking shark—he plays along so well that when Richie whines, Eddie puts a lazy finger to his lips. "Shh."

And that fucks Richie up a little bit. 

He gets a hand in his boxers and tucks the waistband under his balls. His dick stands at attention, pointing straight up, throbbing red and full. He starts slow, getting his grip loose and his stroke lazy to make this last a bit longer. He’s hard as fucking diamond, and slick like one of those novelty glass dildos that he isn’t too ashamed to admit to using. He flicks his gaze up from his dick to look at Eddie’s blank expression, as if he could telepathically communicate his needs.  _‘Please touch me,’_ he thinks, swiping his thumb under the head of his dick over and over,  _ ‘Give me anything.’ _

“ _And this is how Tyler was free to start a fight club every night of the week. After this there were seven fight clubs, and after that there were fifteen fight clubs, and after that..._ ”

The words begin to fade into the background and Richie zeroes in on how Eddie’s looks, soft in all the right places and sharp in the rest, the minty scent of his shampoo, the familiar weight of him, relaxed and practically using Richie like a piece of furniture. Eddie stays still, even as Richie squirms underneath him. He could have sat next to Richie, read silently, and let him beg. But he knew this would be worse, teasing him, really making him suffer for it because he knows that’s really what this is about. Richie starts jacking off in earnest, blood rushing in his ears. His face is hot, his skin is hot. He’s but a mere sack of flammable fat and body hair and Eddie just lit the match without a second thought. His stomach clenches and these little  _ ah, ah, ah  _ noises make their way out of his throat, high and whiny. Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, and he reaches for his mug again, taking a slow sip, his dark eyes scanning the page. He scoots back a little further, away from where Richie chokes his dick like it owes him money, rubs a hand over his eyelids and stifles a yawn.

It’s either Richie loses time when he comes, seeing white behind his eyelids, or Eddie is that fucking quick to drop the book, pick up Richie’s cum-slathered hand and wrap it around his dick. Panting, he works Richie’s hand over his dick fast and messy, shifting forward and bouncing on Richie’s lap like he’d get his dick inside of him if he could. Belatedly, Richie tightens his grip, delighting in how Eddie’s jaw drops right before he stiffens, twitches, and comes with a silent cry. With a sigh and a chuckle, Eddie relaxes, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to Richie’s parted lips.

* * *

If Richie didn’t know any better, he’d think Eddie was made in a lab. 

Though Richie has seen Eddie's extensive, overly complicated morning, nighttime, and getting ready routines, he still laughs to himself every time he thinks about Eddie being bred in a test tube and grown in a vat of translucent slime.

Currently, he's standing naked with a pair of tweezers shoved up his left nostril, glaring at his reflection like he's personally affronted by the nose hairs. 

And, surprise, Richie is turned on by it. At this point, there’s no arguing with it or trying to rationalize it or justify it. As a teenager, he would regularly jack off with a dry, microwaved sock rolled over his dick, all the way to the balls, clutching a crumpled page that he discreetly ripped from a Sears catalogue, straining his eyes to see the calf muscles of golf shorts clad men. He has paid his dues twice over in the form of chafing his dick for a decade and then filling time and space with placeholders that couldn’t hold a candle to Eddie in any way. Frankly, he deserves to indulge in acting like a goddamn horny baboon every time Eddie ignores him.

Richie starts getting undressed, and Eddie waits until his half chub is on display before looking at him and saying, “You’re too distracting when we shower together.” 

“Excuse me?” Richie asks, pausing with his boxers at his ankles.

Eddie steps around Richie’s back, turns him around, takes his hands, and places them firmly on the counter. “Wait here.”

Richie’s knees go weak and his mouth dries up. “Okay.” 

_ Graciously,  _ Eddie leaves the shower door open a little as he showers. Through the small opening and the thick steam filling the room, Richie watches water cascade down Eddie’s back and over his toned ass. Eddie rubs the shower gel over his body in an efficient, clinical way, not even trying to be sexy, because he knows that he could be rolling naked in mud and garbage and Richie would still be foaming at the mouth. 

Eddie sticks his head out of the shower, giving Richie a full view of his dick. Despite the fact that all he’s done is bathe and run a stray hand over himself, his dick is hard and pointing straight at Richie like the Eye of Sauron—just as maddening, but decidedly sexier. “You can come in if you promise to be good.” 

Richie steps into the shower and watches Eddie wash his hair, standing there with his hands behind his back because he has the self regulation skills of a 2nd grader. As Eddie steps out, he says over his shoulder. "I guess you can touch yourself now, if you really have to." It's giving permission, but, like  _ not really _ and for an agonizing few seconds, Richie doesn’t know what to do.

The loud whir of the blow dryer fills the room and Richie wraps a hand around himself, trying to get a good look at Eddie’s dick like some kind of fucking peeping tom. He starts working his hand over his cock and comes so fast, it feels like he imagined it. One second, he’s biting his lip to keep from moaning Eddie’s name and the next he’s bracing himself against the shower wall, panting like he’s just run a marathon. He’s standing there under the spray of water with his dick in his hand, still hard, the world’s worst submissive. Eddie's voice echoes in his head, in a deliciously mocking tone: _'You couldn't even be good for 30 seconds.'_

Though Eddie didn’t hear it or see it, he knows. There’s a hint of a smile on his face and a shine in his eyes that makes Richie want to drop to his knees on the hard bathroom tile and beg to be stepped on.

Miraculously, Richie manages not to go full gimp in the time it takes them to finish getting ready. Richie pulls into the parking garage, in the middle of his impassioned advocacy speech about normalizing putting whatever the hell you want in potato salad, and Eddie puts a hand on his thigh.

"-just saying that it's bland, you know? Why shouldn't we be able to spice it up with raisins or, like- what?"

Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt, turns in his seat and uses a single hand to unzip Richie's fly and take his dick out of his pants.

"Oh," Richie says and whips his head around at the parking garage. They're blocked in by two cars, but at any moment someone could walk by, glance inside and see Eddie with a handful of cock. Eddie strokes a dry hand up, his smile growing when Richie hardens in his palm. Richie adjusts his glasses, just to have something to do with his hands. "Uh...what time was our reservation?"

Eddie scoffs, "You don't give a shit if we're late," and bends at the waist to take Richie's entire dick into his mouth, choking a bit once he gets to the base. The little noise alone drives Richie insane, and paired with the expert curling and rolling of Eddie's tongue, he has no chance of getting out of this alive.

"Oh," he says again, a little more urgently, bracing his hands on the steering wheel. 

Eddie smiles around Richie's dick, pulls off, and looks up at Richie through his stupid, beautiful long eyelashes.

"What?"

"Nothing," Eddie says easily, and proceeds to sit up and tuck Richie back into his pants. He swipes a thumb at the corners of his lips. "Ready to eat?"

Richie blinks, feeling his dick twitch in his damp boxers. "Um, _no_ , what the fuck-"

"We'll be late," Eddie says calmly, reaching over to release Richie's seat belt.

"You just-" Richie whines, a bit indignantly, and motions to his crotch. “Dude, c’mon you can’t fucking leave me like this.”

It must sound a little  _ too  _ needy because Eddie stops, watching Richie carefully. With a single word, Eddie would drop this ruse and suck Richie's soul through his dick. As much as Richie wants that, the stirring in his pants and anticipation building in his chest tells him that this is even better. Richie closes his mouth, dropping his hands away from his lap. "Let's go." 

Inside the restaurant, they sit across from each other. Richie stares with reckless abandon—Eddie’s fingers dunking the lemon wedge into his water, his eyes focused on the menu, his posture relaxed and comfortable while Richie does his best impression of not being horny in public. Eddie is painstakingly casual, perusing the appetizer choices with the glass of water to his lips. “Remember our first date? I still don’t trust food trucks.”

“Remember when you tried to kill me via blue balls?" Richie asks, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "Oh wait, that’s happening right now.” 

Eddie hums and flips a page in the menu. "I already know what I want, I think. What are you thinking?"

_'Oh, I want to be rode hard and put away wet, thanks for asking,' _ he thinks, but for once in his life he refrains from saying the first thing that pops into his shit brain.

"The chicken artichoke thing sounds good. You should order that too, so you won't pick off my plate." Without so much as a glance across the table, Eddie closes the menu and picks up the wrapped cutlery. “Do you think they sanitize better at nicer places, or do you think it’s the same everywhere?” 

Richie is dizzy, his dick threatening to flex out his pants like the Hulk out of an unsuspecting button down shirt. There’s a table on each side of them, watching him wiggle in his seat like he has hemorrhoids on his asshole. He can't touch himself sitting here, so he does the next best thing. "Do you think it’s morally just to get your boyfriend hard and not finish him off?” 

Eddie unwraps the cutlery and peers at the fork, likely looking for a minuscule speck of dried food. “We could be wasting our money here because we were tricked into thinking it’s cleaner and better quality food.” 

Richie squeezes his lips shut tightly, grinding his teeth. It's as if he's full to the brim with unsatiated desire and if he doesn't release it in one way or another, he'll explode. Blood, viscera, and cum will splatter everywhere, scaring the poor eldery couple sitting next to them. "If you don’t fuck me tonight, my dick will fill up with blood and fall off of my body. Then I’ll die. Is that what you want? You want me dead, you  _ sadist fuck._ Eddie I swear to  _ god_, if you don’t fuck me or touch me I’m gonna lose my mind. I’ll go postal, I mean it. I’ll burn this place down. They'll say on the news, 'If only his boyfriend gave in and bent him over the table and fucked him, this never would have happened.'”

The last part gets a tiny smile from Eddie, which he tries to fight as he continues to inspect the silverware. "They should really consider changing the dish soap. There are water spots all over this."

Richie all but jumps out of his seat, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. "Restroom," he says, then backtracks. "I'm going there. To the restroom."

"Okay," Eddie says, giving Richie's hand a weak squeeze. "Hurry back or you'll miss the server."

The restroom is empty, but has wall to wall mirrors that reflect just how crazed Richie looks. He might as well have the word ‘cumbrain’ tattooed on his forehead. He sticks a hand under the automated faucet, waving frantically to get it to respond, and wets his hands. He leans forward and splashes the cool water on his face, finding himself pressing his dick to the edge of the sink. "Fuck," he whispers, reveling in targeted pressure. It hurts but he rolls with it, rocking against the ceramic edge for a few shameful seconds. Glancing around the room, he contemplates if he could get away with shutting himself into the single stall and finishing the job. There would be no way to hide the noise, even if he tried his absolute best to stay quiet. Someone could walk in, hear his stifled moans, see his awkward stance through the space under the stall door, and immediately know that he's jacking it in a public restroom. Thinking about it gets him so hot that he has to wet his face again. 

From his spot against the sink, Richie sends Eddie a text, knowing the response he'll get.

_ 'hey meet me in the restroom please? we'll be quick' _

The read receipt pops up, but there's nothing indicating that Eddie is typing a response.

Glowing, Richie sends another message, quick and to the point.

_ 'let me blow you. you don’t even have to touch me’ _

When another read receipt comes through without a response, Richie steps into the stall, whips his dick out, with an audible ‘whoosh’ that he very well could have imagined and snaps a picture of it resting against his hand.

_ ‘look what you’re doing to me.’  _ Richie doesn't wait for a response before sending another.  _ ‘please, i need you.’ _

He's expecting Eddie to text back with faux disapproval— all those great words like  _ needy _ and  _ impatient _ —which Richie loves as much as the next sex fiend.

Instead, he gives Richie exactly what he wants: nothing. Five minutes pass and Eddie doesn't respond. Richie pictures him at the table, ordering two of those ‘chicken artichoke things’ and politely asking for a different set of cutlery.

Richie shuffles back to the table, willing his dick to relax for at least the rest of dinner. "I'm back." 

"I ordered for us." Eddie glances pointedly at Richie’s crotch and up again to look at his eyes. "Did you want to order a bottle of wine too?"

Richie sits, closing his legs tight. "Sure."

* * *

Eddie yawns the entire drive home, practically moaning about how good the food was. Meanwhile, Richie is gripping the steering wheel and driving a little too fast through the residential neighborhood. Physically, he's watching the road, but mentally he's sitting on Eddie's cock. Preferably on the couch because it's less bouncy and Richie really has to work for it, pulling muscles in his ass and thighs. It's all worth the pain when Eddie is under him, bucking his hips up to meet Richie's desperate movements. 

"We should go back when you visit again," Eddie is saying, patting his belly. "I don't care if it's overpriced. Fuck it."

"Yeah, for sure," Richie mutters, stopping the car in front of Eddie's apartment building. He takes off his seatbelt and turns to Eddie. "So, I really need to come."

Eddie stares back at him, a devilish glint in his eye because he's fucking  _ perfect _ . "I'm tired, babe."

On the way into the apartment, Richie asks again. "Eddie, I'm gonna lose my mind. Please help me get off."

Toeing off his shoes, Eddie yawns with an exaggerated sound and a hand over his mouth.

"Eddie," Richie says, pawing at his dick.

Detached and quiet, Eddie responds, "Not tonight, baby."

Richie stops in the hallway, watching Eddie walk ahead. "You're being an  _asshole_ ," he whines. Yes, a literal whine. He’s on the verge of a tantrum and he’s absolutely being a brat. Distantly, he thinks he wouldn’t mind if Eddie called him one. 

Eddie stops, turns to look at him, and  _ laughs_. It bubbles out of him like a surprise and it's flippant when it settles, just bordering on condescending. "Oh my god, Richie, relax." 

He heads to the bathroom for his night routine and to get undressed, ignoring Richie's incessant pleas. They're in bed shortly after, kissing goodnight before Eddie closes his eyes and rolls over. Richie knows Eddie isn't asleep, he can tell by the rise and fall of his body and the stiffness in his neck. He's waiting, listening carefully. So, Richie doesn't even pretend to hold off. He slides a hand down to his dick and squeezes, first through the thick duvet. With a muffled groan, he moves his hand under the duvet but over the boxers, the damp spot growing under his palm. Finally, he slips a hand under the boxers and can’t help but to go to town immediately, letting his hips rise off the mattress, his body reacting before his brain can catch up.

Not even a few strokes in, Eddie grumbles and reaches back to tap Richie's leg. “You’re shaking the bed.”

Richie slows down, knowing that Eddie can still feel him moving, can hear his labored breath and the filthy squelch of his hand on his wet dick. Shame rushes him quickly, making him that much harder. He turns onto his side, not thinking much beyond ‘yes, I am really this slutty’ as he begins to rut against Eddie's clothed ass. Silently, with his eyes still shut, Eddie rolls onto his back and wiggles away. Richie throws a leg over his, his mouth moving and words falling out with no real rhyme or reason other than communicating his feral want. In a harsh whisper right at the shell of Eddie's ear, he rambles on. "Please, babe. I need to be fucked so bad. I can't think about anything else, I can't- it isn't the same without you helping me. Fuck, Eddie. Please."

Fueled by his overwhelming arousal and Eddie's purposeful ambivalence, Richie climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. He crushes their lips together and for a moment, Eddie forgets what they’re doing. He smooths his hands over Richie’s back, returning the kiss, then shoves Richie back gently, finally opening his eyes. Richie grinds down, feeling Eddie’s hard dick between his cheeks, just two thin layers of fabric away from catching against his clenching hole. He brings both hands to his dick, twisting and pulling, chasing the orgasm that's just within reach. Still, he begs, “C’mon babe, let me ride you.” 

“I’m tired.” Eddie gives another exaggerated yawn and other than the quaint fire in his eyes, his face shows no indication that he's getting harder under Richie's weight. He picks at his nails and puts an arm behind his head, giving Richie an unfair view of how his muscles stretch over his ribs and chest. 

"Oh, fuck you. You really fucking suck-"

Richie comes fast, making a mess of his hands, and Eddie raises an eyebrow as if to ask Richie if he's done. The thing is though, Richie is never done. Just give him a minute and he'll be ready to go. As spry and eager as a 20 year old. "Love you," he mumbles stupidly, climbing out of bed. Eddie winks at him, pulling the duvet back up to his chin. Richie cleans himself off and crawls back into bed next to Eddie, expecting to be uncomfortably hard all night.

* * *

In the morning, Richie has to stand a generous seven inches away from the bathroom counter to make room for his boner.

Eddie shuffles into the bathroom shortly after, kissing up Richie's back. Richie bends at the waist to spit in the sink, making sure to grind his ass into Eddie's crotch.

"Come here, baby," Eddie says, his voice rough with sleep. He squeezes Richie's ass in both hands and drops his boxers, bending him in half over the counter with a hand on his back. "You want me to take care of you?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Richie says and his hands are already slipping on the surface, his arms too weak to hold him up. “Please.”

Eddie keeps one hand on Richie's lower back as he rummages through the medicine cabinet. There's a crusty old bottle of lube inside next to Eddie's expensive aftershave. Richie had left it here ages ago, insisting that they'd need it. ‘For emergencies,' he had said, grinning when Eddie rolled his eyes. Every time he comes over, he's surprised it's still here.

Richie opens his legs, looking over his shoulder at Eddie's focused gaze. Eddie gets him disgustingly wet, dripping down his crack and over his balls, because he knows it's one of Richie's favorite things in the world. Then, to Richie’s surprise, Eddie slides his dick between Richie’s thighs.

"Close your legs," Eddie says and Richie does as he's told, a moan tumbling out of his mouth when Eddie rocks against him, burying his dick between Richie's hairy thighs. It’s raunchy, still far more tame than Eddie choking him or spitting in his mouth, but something about it makes Richie’s head spin. Eddie gets two fingers into him, making him hiss, and Richie has to bend his knees to help him get the right angle, pressing them hard to the door under the sink. The added discomfort makes the situation feel more illicit. How  _ sexy _ of them to fuck right here in this cramped apartment bathroom?

"Oh, fuck."

"Shh." Eddie grabs a fistful of Richie's hair and pulls, yanking his head up to look in the mirror at Eddie's amused expression.

Eddie adds another finger and fucks all three inside deep, keeping a bruising grip on Richie's ass. The stretch is so good and Eddie's talented fingers prod and stroke exactly where Richie wants them. Richie's breath fogs the mirror and he reaches out to wipe it away, wanting to see himself and nearly knocks over their toothbrushes. Eddie catches them and puts them aside, still fucking into him, knocking the breath out of him with each press of his fingers and shallow, rough snap of his hips. His dick slides against Richie’s balls slowly and carefully, and it’s the perfect kind of ache. He catches Richie’s eyes in their reflection, his pupils dark. “You want me to make you come, baby? You want my dick in your tight ass?” 

Richie stares back at him, knowing exactly what this is. “Yes, I really fucking do.” 

“My fingers aren’t enough?”

“No. I'm a cockslut." Richie licks his lips, growing hotter at his next request. "I want- I need to come with you inside me.” 

Eddie rolls his hips and chuckles, twisting his fingers in a way that nearly sends Richie over the edge. “What if I don’t let you come? Are you gonna be a brat and throw a tantrum? Or are you gonna jack off while I'm right next to you, showing me just how little fucking self control you have?” 

In response, Richie has nothing but a pathetic whimper and a beet red flush of his cheeks as Eddie slows his movements. “You always get to come. Even if you have to do it yourself, even when I’m busy, or tired, and you’re just so fucking needy you want it right then and there. You’re just a bratty, impatient slut, aren’t you?” 

“Yes," Richie chokes. He's close, he's so fucking close he's lightheaded and he'd be chasing that feeling if his dick weren't trapped. On the other hand, he'd be on the floor if Eddie weren't holding him up. Eddie digs his fingers into Richie's asscheek, the other hand shoving between his shoulder blades. Richie lives for this, being held down and manhandled, giving him the opportunity to let go completely. The shame and humiliation is just the cherry on top of the horny sundae.

“Is this what I have to do to get you to relax? I have to get rough with you?”

“Yes. Please let me-” 

And Richie is prepared for more futile begging, he really fucking is, but Eddie doesn’t give him the chance. He claps a hand over Richie’s mouth, “Shh, shut up,” and fucks into him hard, moving his hand in time with his hips. He thrusts once, twice, then pulls out to come over Richie's back with a rather contented sigh.

Richie turns to him wordlessly, waving his leaking dick between them in a silent request that he knows won't be fulfilled.

"I'm making breakfast," Eddie says, washing his hands.

"Right," Richie says, waving his dick again. He contemplates making it spin like a helicopter propeller, because at least he'd get Eddie to laugh, but all of his energy and brainpower is occupied with keeping himself upright. 

As expected, Eddie keeps his eyes forward, brushes his teeth and washes his face. He throws Richie a bone, giving him a soft kiss before leaving him alone with his hard-on. 

To optimize this wonderful torture, Richie steps into the shower on shaky legs, turns on the cold water and decides  _ not  _ to touch his dick. 

It lasts for about five seconds, then he thinks of Eddie calling him a bratty, impatient slut and gets a hand on himself. He holds his dick in a vice grip, fucking into his wet hand to the memory of Eddie’s husky voice in his ear. It's possible that he's reached his jack off limit withing these past few days— his dick hurts and his balls ache a little with his pending release— but, this is the Sex Olympics, he decides. And he's going for gold in this category, baby. 

In the kitchen, Richie sits at the table in a daze. Eddie smiles at him and sets the giant mixing bowl on the counter. He ruffles Richie's wet hair, kisses his temple, and drapes both arms around him. "How do waffles sound, babe?"

* * *

Eddie pays for porn because he's a good person. 

A loud smack— skin on skin— and a moan come through the speaker of Eddie’s phone.

From Richie’s spot in a chair at the side of the bed, the screen isn’t visible, but he does have a gorgeous view of Eddie splayed on his belly wearing nothing but a comically small pair of briefs, with a memory foam pillow under his hips. Eddie braces both elbows on the mattress and grinds down into the pillow, groaning softly under his breath, his eyelids fluttering.

Richie’s dick has been out since Eddie crawled across the bed and started ignoring him in favor of watching porn and humping an overpriced pillow. It’s a true privilege to be here so he’s been on his best behavior, meaning he’s taking his time, cupping his balls with one hand and flicking his wrist as he slides the other up his dick, paying extra attention to the sensitive head. He's pulsing and dripping steadily, a string of pre-cum hanging off his dick like drool. If Eddie were looking, he would love this. This is a waste of precum, really. It should be doing better things, like getting tacky on Eddie’s palms instead of ruining the upholstery on this chair. 

“Hey, you’re missing the show,” Richie jokes lamely, waving his dick a little in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie props himself up on his hands and knees, pulling down the waistband of his boxers. His dick swings between his legs like a motherfucking pendulum and Richie is hypnotized, his asshole twitching at the thought of Eddie inside of him. Richie has memorized the lines of Eddie’s dick, the curve of it, how it feels inside of him, how the taut muscles and tendons of his groin bruise Richie’s ass. He wishes he could finger himself open here, just to have  _ something _ stretching him. 

From Eddie's phone, Richie hears some guy getting spanked and subsequently railed. He listens, and sighs wistfully, having never felt this fucking envious of a pornstar. Eddie watches the screen intently and turns over onto his back, holding the phone in one hand and his dick in the other, thrusting into his fist, writhing and sighing like no one is around to hear him. 

Taking a chance, Richie stands up, steps out of his boxers off and hops on the bed, kneeling between Eddie’s thighs for a closer look. Eddie doesn't make eye contact with him or his exposed dick, just carries on jerking off and staring open-mouthed at his phone.

“If you fuck me right now, I’ll be your sex slave. I mean it," Richie says, throwing caution to the wind.

Eddie plants his feet, bucks into his hand, and says nothing. Richie feels a shiver up his spine and he rambles on, sitting obediently like he's praying at an altar.

"You can wake me up with your dick in my mouth, I’ll let you do anything. You can keep me on my knees for hours, babe. I’ll fuck myself up for you, just need you inside me."

He's hoarse, his throat dry from panting, but his mouth fills with saliva watching redness spread from Eddie's dick all the way up his chest as he sucks his lip into his mouth and bites down.

"You won’t even have to do anything, just lay here and let me ride your dick like a slut." Richie sinks down to kiss both of Eddie's knees and adds, "Please.”

With a vaguely annoyed hum, Eddie hooks his legs over Richie’s shoulders and wraps both thighs around his head. There's no warning before he digs his heels into Richie’s back and forces him flat onto the mattress. "I'm busy,” he says simply and crosses his calves behind Richie’s back, squeezing his thighs tighter.

“I love this. I love you so much," Richie says, his voice muffled. He can't really breathe but… such is life. It would be an honor to die this way. In the strong grip of Eddie’s thighs, all he can see is the fabric of Eddie’s boxers bunched up under his balls. If he could, he would tongue Eddie’s balls and suck them to the back of his throat, looking up to watch how Eddie tries not to fall apart. Eddie says he doesn’t like the sensation, something about not being able to get past how sensitive they are. But Richie is a little shit, and every time he does it, Eddie comes like someone shoved a rocket up his ass. Richie settles with mouthing between his cheeks, right where his hole would be exposed if he weren’t still partially dressed, and starts humping the bed, grinding his bare dick into the mattress the best he can. Eddie groans at Richie’s desperation and releases him, only to place both feet on his shoulders and force him off the edge of the bed, before turning over to continue humping the pillow. 

Scrambling, Richie climbs back onto the bed and follows him, sliding his hands up the back of his legs. "Can I just…? Fuck Eddie, just let me-" Richie cuts himself off, stopping his hands at Eddie's ass, and slots his dick between Eddie’s thighs. Immediately, Richie understands the appeal—Eddie's warm skin, damp with sweat and Richie’s pre-cum, swaddling Richie's dick with soft fat and taut muscles. It's breathtaking. This image should be in a fucking museum. Eddie barely reacts, simply squeezing his muscular thighs together tighter to accommodate Richie's messy thrusts. The cotton of Eddie’s boxers is a little rough on the top of his dick, threatening to chafe, but the pain grounds him a bit. He rolls the fabric up on Eddie’s cheeks, edging closer to the cleft of his ass and Eddie stops him for a second to pull the boxers down, letting Richie slide back in. 

Because Eddie is a wonderful, beautiful, amazing boyfriend, he waits until Richie is right on the cusp of coming before starting to talk shit.

"You've been waving your big dick around all week and not doing anything useful with it. Too busy begging to be fucked but you never offered to fuck  _ me._” 

It's unfair, really. It's so fucking unfair. Eddie has been kicking his ass all night, unleashing combo after combo, and now Richie is swaying, waiting for Eddie to finish him with an impassioned cry of ‘ _Your soul is mine!’ _ “Oh, fuck, babe-” 

"You better not come before you get your dick in me," Eddie says, barely looking over his shoulder to catch Richie's eyes.

"I can't,” Richie admits, letting embarrassment wash over him. “I'm gonna come as soon as-" 

"Make it work, baby." 

"Eddie-" 

" _Now_ , Richie,” Eddie demands, and it sends Richie reeling.

He pulls Eddie's boxers down to his knees, makes quick work of getting him open around one and then two wet fingers, then presses into him, immediately rushed and sloppy, selfishly chasing his own orgasm. Chuckling, Eddie rocks back to stop Richie's quick pace. "This is not for you. Slow down and fuck me the right way." 

“I-” As from his hips twitching involuntarily, Richie stops completely, buried deep just to feel him wrapped tight for a moment longer, knowing that as soon as he moves, he’s going to fall apart at the seams.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” Eddie asks, and Richie can hear the cracks between his words. “After all I do for you and you can’t even last thirty seconds for me? You always come fast, always too excited. Always such a greedy slut.” 

And, honestly, how the fuck is Richie supposed to  _ not _ blow his load at that? It's Eddie’s finishing move, the  _Fatality—_ he might as well have grabbed Richie by the nutsack and forced him to come.

The tension building in the pit of Richie’s gut releases all at once and he slumps back onto his heels, pumping his hand over his cock as a seemingly endless flow of jizz spurts over his fist.

“Ugh, pathetic," Eddie sighs, rolling onto his back once again. He opens his legs, puts one foot on Richie’s shoulder, and shoves him down. "Now get down there and make me come." 

Richie blinks, his head swimming with the typical post-orgasm daze, and his skin flushes with shame. “How?” 

With a stare that Richie somehow feels in his asshole, Eddie says, “Figure it out.” 

Suddenly, Richie’s hands feel like two baseball mitts uselessly attached to his arms. Lacking tact, but making up for it with heart and determination, Richie lowers himself to his forearms and takes Eddie’s dick into his mouth. Eddie fists both hands into Richie’s hair and holds him still, fucking into his mouth hard enough to make him gag and drool. Clumsily, Richie gets two fingers into him, moving with no real rhythm or set pace, just reveling in the feeling of Eddie clenching around his fingers, the taste of Eddie’s cock in his mouth, and the sound of his wanton moans. Richie hums around the welcome stretch, slurping up his spit and Eddie’s pre-cum just to swirl it around the head of his dick, and Eddie cries out with a string of curse words before coming straight down Richie’s throat.

“Oh, wow, wow, wow,” Eddie sighs, pulling gently out of Richie’s mouth. He taps Richie’s shoulder and motions for him to come closer. Richie does, draping his long, sticky limbs over Eddie’s equally wrecked body. They kiss, and Eddie licks into Richie’s mouth like he’s trying to taste himself.

It could be five minutes, could be twenty, but Richie finally collapses onto his belly at Eddie’s side, regaining the mental capacity to speak again. “Have I- was I good?”

Eddie grins and shimmies down the bed, making space to lie between Richie’s legs. “You’re always good,” he says, guiding Richie’s legs open. He flats his tongue against Richie’s hole and Richie shivers, always finding this to be too much too quickly. Eddie holds him in place, licking and mouthing until Richie is trembling and loose, rubbing his hard, wet dick against the mattress. He loses his breath when Eddie straddles his thighs and finally presses into him, so full that it feels like he’s choking on it. Every vein, every single pulse of his hot length, makes Richie’s nerve endings go haywire, sending him into a quiet frenzy that he balls up and holds deep in his chest, buried under waves of pleasure.

Eddie rocks into him and right away, Richie is floating, light as a feather, his skin tingling with satisfaction. He goes slow, pulling out all the way each time just to sink back in, letting the head of his dick nestle sweetly in the spot that turns Richie into a babbling mess. Eddie digs his blunt nails into Richie’s ass and everything goes fuzzy around the edges, his thoughts fading, his eyes closing against tears and his mouth open with a steady, low whine. Before Richie is too far gone, Eddie brings him back with a firm spank, giving Richie no choice but to come with a strangled sob. 

“Where do you want me to come baby?” Eddie asks, smoothing a hand over Richie’s ass. 

“Anywhere,” Richie mumbles, his voice feeling thick in his mouth.

“I want you to choose,” Eddie says softly. “Want you to tell me.” 

At this point, Eddie could come in Richie’s ear and he’d say ‘thank you.’ “On my chest,” he says, because he’s selfish and wants to see Eddie’s face when he comes.

Behind him, Eddie sucks in a breath. “You want me to come on your tits, baby?” 

“Please, please-” 

Eddie pulls out carefully, rolls Richie over and straddles his waist, sitting up on his knees. He’s a work of art, his muscles flexing from thighs and abs all the way up to his and biceps. He works his hand over his dick in a practiced motion, chasing his release, and knowing just how to put on a show as he does it. They’re both good for that, wanting to watch and wanting to be watched, their voyeuristic and exhibitionist ways fueling the other’s. 

When Eddie comes, Richie opens his mouth on instinct, and Eddie smiles knowingly, splashing hot on Richie’s chest before lowering himself carefully into Richie’s lap. 

Too well-fucked to even pretend to have a brain to mouth filter, Richie looks at Eddie’s blissed out expression and says, “Keep that up and I just might marry you, dude.”

Eddie opens his mouth and pauses, his eyes not quite focused, then says: “You gotta stop calling me dude.”

Richie laughs, tugging Eddie down to lie on his chest. “You’re just gonna ignore what I just said, huh? Love that.”

“I love you,” Eddie says, nuzzling into Richie’s neck even though they’re practically stuck together with jizz and sweat. “Talk to me about it when I’m not about to fall asleep.”

Richie knows Eddie would rather wade through a sewer than fall asleep like this, but he holds him close anyway, grinning, bathing in his glow, placing kisses along his sweaty hairline, whispering tender ‘I love you’s. 

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @ [curiousair](https://twitter.com/curiousair) where I talk shit and I'm always on my bullshit.
> 
> special shout out to @ [my best friend](https://twitter.com/haystck_hanscom) for reading this before I posted it and helping me with some of the wacky shit in here lmao.


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